I never dreaded aging, knowing, as I do, that it beats the
alternative. But Dad died suddenly and unexpectedly five days before my
forty-seventh birthday, and just today, a week out from my forty-ninth, I
realized that I now link my age increase with his sudden death.
It’s a bummer.
Before Dad died, my birthday, positioned near the last day
of winter, always conjured for me hopes of spring. Daffodils were usually out
by then, though that is not the case this year. The odd brave forsythia could
be spotted (again, not happening this year). As the equinox approached, the
angle of the sun bent back onto my deck, and things held an air of potential. I
had ideas to write and a conviction that the time spent writing them was time
spent well. I easily connected with that life force, that surety that I was
alive and living fully, with purpose.
I took it for granted.
***
For Christmas I received a 365 day calendar, the kind where
you tear off a new page each day. I find myself startled at how quickly the
thick stack of thin sheets printed in kittens and italicized wise words has
diminished. Today’s quote is Longfellow, sappy and contemplative. I like
tomorrow’s better: “The darkest hour has only sixty minutes.” (Morris Mandel)
It turns out that I don’t care for daily calendars. The need
to turn them regularly eludes me, and I end up peeling away weeks at a time to
get caught up. I lose the continuity of wisdom; it feels like skipping
chapters in a book, but I toss them unread. I do flip quickly to see the
pictures of the kittens, though. Daily calendars produce in me a psychological anxiety
similar to an hour glass – the surety of pages dwindling, the passage of time
and no means to prevent it, no matter how cute the kitten, no matter how wise
the words.
I read an article recently about an Ohio State study that concluded parents should not excessively "praise" their children, as it can lead to narcissistic tendencies. Of course, the analyst in me found the conclusion a bit squishy; after all, what is too much? What is considered praise? Did they consider the opposite (too much criticism...or no feedback at all for that matter)?
ReplyDeleteHow is this relevant to your powerfully written entry, you might ask? I am all too aware of how the passage of time creates this sense of a ticking clock counting down our opportunity to be relevant and contribute meaningful to the world, leaving it a better place than perhaps we found it.
I cringe as I see it in its advanced form in the crumpling life force of so many in my parents’ generation – winding down and waiting to pass on; ignored by the frenzied masses who forget that, but for the grace of the generation before, they would not be here, much less be equipped, to make their mark on the world.
Your simple, beautiful act of recognizing the effort as art got me thinking about that study again; how much "praise," or feedback, does it take to engage a child's bright developing mind into the larger pursuits of humanity? As a society, how do we nurture that engagement without unleashing the Hyde that, well, hides behind the Jekyll in every human?
As important, how do we continue to engage, or re-engage, the jaded intellect whose fear of irrelevancy suppresses the willingness to risk ‘wasted effort’ on the truly unique and novel? It may take a village to raise a child, but it also takes a village to hold onto the intellectual gold of its aging members. Societies die without the ability to do both.
Thanks for making me think!